Return to Mandalore: Unfold
by Toft
Summary: Jatne is a 20-something Mandalorian trying to make a name for himself after the rise of the Empire. With an AWOL clone to look after, Jatne finds himself trying to balance his love life with the well-being of his new brother.
1. Going Home

**UNFOLD**

**GOING HOME**

_Journal Entry of Rem Meshkad, 32 BBY_

_Shit. She's going to kill me._

_I shouldn't have taken this job, but the pay was too good to pass up. Listen to me. Worried about credits when my 8-year-old son needs a father to train him. But it's too late now, isn't it? I'm going to some backwater planet to train soldiers. Not my own son. Soldiers I've never met before. I can't even tell Jatne where I'm going or why I'm doing it--it's some big military secret. And maybe that's for the best, because I don't have any answers. I'll just have credits. I swear to Manda, every cred I make will be for him and his mother._

_Yeah, she's going to kill me. Credits over my own son. She thinks I'm dead, but she'll still find a way to kill me._

_Shit._

_Outside Keldabe, Mandalore, 11 years before the Battle of Geonosis_

Jatne Meshkad stared up at his father. He remembered three months ago when they left home. Saying goodbye to his mother was like the amputation of his right leg--or going blind. Jatne had cried. He knew he shouldn't have cried because he had never seen his father cry before and he wanted to be like him, but there were tears in his mother's eyes. And he hated seeing her sad more than he hated the thought of leaving her.

"Son," Rem said, kneeling down in front of him. He put his big hands on his son's small shoulders. "I'm sorry I have to do this."

"Where are you going?" Jatne asked. Every time he asked on the way to his aunt's house, his father couldn't respond. "Why can't I come with you?"

"I can't tell you anything more than you're not allowed. I wish you could come, _Jat'ika_. I really do."

"When will you be back?" Jatne's heart was pounding. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself into his father's arms and never leave his side.

"I'll see you again when you're as tall as me, Jatne." Rem smiled but Jatne didn't think it was because he was happy. Rem put his hand on top of his son's head and ruffled his hair. "You'll be a man then."

Jatne balled his hands into fists and looked down at the ground. When he looked back at his father, he saw tears in his eyes. "Dad?" he asked in a small voice.

Rem opened his arms and scooped Jatne up. The armor plates smashed Jatne's cheek against his skull like it always did. It was the biggest, hardest hug that a Mandalorian could give. It almost hurt, but that wasn't why the tears leaked out of Jatne's eyes. His father let go. The side of Jatne's cheek was red.

Rem hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his glove. He looked at the small woman with blonde hair who stepped closer to Jatne and placed her fingertips on his back. "Thank you, Verda," Rem said with control.

Verda nodded and looked down at Jatne, who still hadn't stopped crying.

"I'll be back, Jatne. I promise." Unable to watch his son for another moment, Rem put his helmet on and turned to walk back to his ship. The late morning sun had grown hot and the air was thick with moisture, heavy and still. Jatne felt hot and dizzy and he couldn't see straight.

"Let's go inside, Jatne," Verda said. He felt the pressure of her hand on his back. She wasn't his mother or father. She was just his mother's sister and she wasn't very nice and she had purple armor and not green armor. "Jatne? Come on," she urged. He felt her grab onto his arm, and he was half-dragged back into her tiny abode.

Jatne felt himself sit down in a hard chair, and his knapsack was placed at his feet. He was trying as hard as he could to stop crying, and the sobs were subsiding. His aunt stood near the window with her back to him as if she was sparing him the embarrassment of watching him cry. Within minutes, Jatne was only sniffling and drying off his face with his sleeve.

Verda was much younger than his mother. In fact, she could have been his sister. He remembered seeing an image of his aunt holding him as a baby and she hadn't been much older than he was. Verda pushed her short blonde hair behind her ear and looked back at him. "I don't know much about kids, Jatne. So you're gonna have to help me."

Jatne didn't say anything.

"My father used to leave us for years at a time. You'll stop missing him in a week."

"My stomach hurts," Jatne said.

"The 'fresher is out back if you think you're going to lose it."

Jatne looked up at his aunt with a hard frown.

"I'm going to tell you right now that if you throw up in my house, I'm not cleaning it up."

Jatne swallowed and vowed to himself that he wasn't going to throw up. So he didn't.

_40 Klicks Outside Keldabe, Mandalore, 4.5 Years after the Battle of Geonosis_

Jatne Meshkad sighed with his ship as the engines cooled. Another successful landing. Another few months back home. He turned his head toward the passenger seat where a young girl sat on her hands and kicked her feet. She looked back at him and scrunched up her nose. "That was a terrible landing."

"You can fly next time," he retorted as his sister stood up and grabbed her bag. He followed her out of the ship, through the rusting archway to the platform where at the bottom waited their father.

The Mandalorian was wearing a white linen shirt and gray trousers, which were soiled from the knees down with the reddish clay soil of the farm. He was tall and his dark hair was flecked with grays, but he still looked as fit as he did during the war. "There are my _ad_'_ike_!" he said proudly. He never stopped using the affectionate Mandalorian term for "children"--most fathers didn't.

Tracyn bounded up to him, and he picked her up and held her on his hip even though she was partially suited up in armor--made of _beskar_, the toughest material known on Mandalore--and a little taller than she had been six months ago. "How did it go?" Rem asked his son.

"Fine." Jatne said. He turned and went back into the ship to get the last bit of luggage.

"Make a bundle?"

"Sure did," Jatne called over his shoulder.

"And what did you learn, _Cyn'ika_?" Rem asked with a grin as she tugged on his ear.

"I learned how to stay very quiet and very still while being carried in a tote bag."

Rem's face wilted. "What?"

"Jatne put me in the Senator's tote bag."

"Jatne!" Rem bellowed. His voice echoed throughout the ship like an angry mynok.

Back inside the house, Rem hadn't stopped scolding him. "What's wrong with you? Putting your sister in a tote bag!"

Jatne didn't look at his father as he set the luggage down near the door to be sorted later. "The Senator could have been compromised and she wouldn't let me go with her. So I snuck Tracyn in."

"It was really fun! See, the Senator really liked this red Zeltron guy, but Jatne was suspicious. And the Senator didn't want Jatne to come along and botch things up before she got to necking with the Zeltron guy--"

Rem dropped the pot of water he had been holding over the sink. "What exactly did you see?"

"Nothing! But I heard a lot of kissing and giggling."

Rem glared and pointed his finger at Jatne. "So not only did you turn your sister into living contraband, but she witnessed some--"

"Calm down, old man." Jatne was unloading his gear on a long table near the door, laying out his weapons in neat lines. "Tracyn recorded some valuable information and she wasn't in any danger."

"Yep! But you should have seen how cross Jatne was when he found out the Senator was kissing another guy." Tracyn's bright smile betrayed her knowledge of what she was saying.

Rem put the pot of water over the stove and ran his hand over his hair. "So you slept with the Senator, Jatne? Is that it?"

"Way to jump to conclusions, Dad!" Jatne was about ready to jump back in his ship and find a hotel to stay in rather than face the ridicule of his father.

"Well?"

"I caught them sleeping together!" Tracyn said. Her brother and father stared at her with open mouths. "Jatne was all cuddling her, and she was all snuggly with him!" Tracyn hugged herself and made kissing noises to demonstrate.

Jatne and Rem stared at Tracyn for a moment, both seeming relieved that she didn't catch the euphemism. Then Jatne stiffened and looked at his father, who returned his gaze with a hard glare. "That's not what you were paid to do."

"I was her bodyguard. I did my job. She wanted the extra bit."

Rem let out a heavy sigh and went to the cupboard, taking out various jars of spices and slabs of preserved meat. "Us Meshkads," he said, a grin crossing his face, "we're hard to resist."

Jatne rolled his eyes as he set down his belt and stepped from the foyer into the kitchen. He sat next to his sister at the table and glared at her. She stuck her tongue out at him, then turned to their father. "_Jat'ika_ was really good, Daddy. He didn't let anybody touch the Senator. And he sat through dozens of boring Senate meetings and he showed me how to use the panoramic HUD viewer and he let me use his sniper rifle once and he was a professional bodyguard and the Senator told him so!"

"Well, that's good to hear," Rem said with a pleasant smile. He sat down with them at the table.

"Where's Mom?" Jatne asked.

"Picking up some friends with her sister."

"Friends?" Tracyn asked.

"It's a surprise," Rem said. "They should be back in time for dinner."

A loud hum from outside announced the return of Amyr's ship. Rem shrugged and stood up, and the three of them exited the front door. A small freighter partially blocked the setting sun as it landed on the pad in the rear of the house. The engines hissed and cooled and soon the wind brought a thin layer of red dust over Rem and his children. After a short pause, the landing platform lowered and didn't make the loud creaking sounds of Jatne's ship.

Amyr Meshkad walked down the ramp of her ship. She wasn't wearing her armor, but instead an olive colored, high-waist dress with a utility belt and well-worn brown boots. Her hair was braided and she had dark visors on. Jatne was glad to see her after all of these months while he was on the job, but he was surprised she wasn't wearing her armor. Where had she been?

"Look who came home!" Amyr said as she took off the visors.

Tracyn ran up and bounced before hugging her mother. "Jatne slept with the Senator!" she reported proudly.

"Tracyn!" Jatne and Rem yelled in tandem.

Amyr glared at Jatne and seemed ready for an explanation before she could accept a hug from him.

"I didn't really sleep with her!" Jatne lied.

Amyr shook her head and hugged her son, planting a kiss on each cheek. "We'll talk later. Right now, we have guests."

A short woman with blonde hair came traipsing down the ramp, trailed by an abnormally tall Mirialan male. He had five square-shaped tattoos, two above one eyebrow and three above the other. The expression on his face made Jatne wonder if he had been keel hauled all the way here, or otherwise threatened with bodily harm within the past ten minutes. Was he a hostage? What did Dad mean when he said that Mom and Verda were coming home with "friends?"

"Auntie Verda!" said Tracyn. Verda ruffled her niece's hair roughly and waved to Jatne and Rem.

"Demus, go get the luggage," Verda told the Mirialan.

"Yes'm!" he said, and disappeared back into the ship.

"Who is that, again?" Rem asked. "Is he your new boy toy?"

"Since when have I ever had a _boy_ toy?" Verda grumbled. She waved her hand dismissively at Rem and went over to Jatne, holding out her arm for a shake. She thumped him on the back as they pulled each other close. "How did you like being a bodyguard, _Jat'ika_?" she asked with a toothy grin.

"It was a lot different from how you taught me," Jatne replied with a hesitant chuckle. "Nobody really prepared me for a Rutian Twi'lek as a client."

Verda elbowed him in the side. "Never had 'the talk' with Rem, huh?"

"Nope. Guess that's what happens when you get left at your aunt's house for ten years!" Jatne said with an exaggerated grin.

Amyr and Rem glared at him.

"I know, I know. It was wartime."

Verda tapped her foot.

"And living with Aunt Verda wasn't bad."

The Mirialan, Demus, reappeared with two large knapsacks on each shoulder and also carrying a medium-sized crate. He was practically a child and wiry to boot--Jatne ogled him as he came down the ramp. "Where do you want these?" he asked Verda, voice strained.

"Take them to the house, Deems."

"_Ad'ika_," Amyr shouted into the ship. "Do you want to come out now?"

Jatne froze. He and his sister were not their mother's only children as far as Jatne was concerned. When a clone came ambling down the ramp of the ship, Jatne was not surprised. No, he was a little mad.

There was always some clone stealing his glory.


	2. Wingman

**WINGMAN**

_The Meshkad Abode, 40 Klicks Outside of Keldabe, Mandalore, Present_

Amyr made sure the guests were comfortable in the living room while Rem finished cooking dinner. Jatne and Tracyn helped pass out bowls of stew and glasses for drinks, as well as bread with oil and herbs for dipping. Jatne lowered himself into a chair next to his father, who sat on a small loveseat with his mother. Across from Jatne sat the clone with Tracyn beside him on the couch, then Verda and her Mirialan in separate chairs. They all were halfway through the meal before anyone spoke.

"So how'd you get here?" Jatne asked the clone.

The clone looked at Amyr, then at her son. "I defected. Wound up on a transport to Kyrimorut, then Sergeant Meshkad picked me up."

"It's just Amyr now," she corrected him gently.

"Right," he said, flushed.

"An AWOL clone parading around the galaxy with my name. That's good for my reputation," Jatne remarked, only half-joking.

The clone stared at him without knowing whether or not to joke with him or jump him. Amyr spoke instead. "You don't have to keep that name, _ad'ika_. You can pick your own."

"I'll think about it," the clone said, growing pensive.

Rem gave his son a disapproving stare, knowing full well that he was being rude to their guest. He looked over at his sister in-law and her Mirialan companion. "I don't think you properly introduced your friend here."

"He's my son," Verda replied without looking up from her bowl.

The Mirialan's head shot up. He looked around at the others in the room before his eyes turned to Verda. "W-What?"

"Remember when you were sick and delirious and I stood over you and said something in Mandalorian and you got all weepy and fell asleep?"

"Vaguely."

"Yeah. I adopted you. Now you're my son." Verda kept eating.

The Mirialan turned pale. "Oh."

"Yep. Batholdemus Jatekara." Verda looked over at him and grinned. "That's kind of a mouthful, isn't it? Amyr, can I reverse an adoption?"

"Only if he disowns you," Amyr said as she sipped some tea.

Dinner commenced with sparse conversation and more eating than eye contact until Verda announced that she and Demus had places to go. The Meshkads said their farewells and found themselves together as a family for the first time in nearly six months, though this time their was a clone amongst their ranks. Jatne stood over his gear on the staging table near the front door and busied himself with looking over one of the discarded daggers.

Amyr looked from her aloof son to the clone and gently placed her hand on the young man's shoulder. "Why don't we get you settled, then have Jatne take you to Keldabe?"

Jatne glared at her and knew she meant to get him and the clone liking each other at any cost. He was too blasted polite to say no. "Sure."

_Hayc'jag, Keldabe, Mandalore_

The _Hayc'jag_ was a tiny bar. Jatne liked it for that reason. It was out of the way, the drinks were decent, and nobody bothered each other. It was a place for quiet drinking, the kind of night you wanted to have after coming back from a fight.

Jatne sat in the speeder with his hands on the controls. "Ever been a wingman, Jatne?"

"No, Jatne, I haven't."

"Well, Jatne, it's quite simple."

"Is it going to be like this all night, _Jatne_?" the clone asked.

"Yes, _Jatne_, it is. This is my first night home after breaking up with a smokin' Twi'lek Senator. I know you were in a _war_ or what-have-you, but you do owe me one since I rescued you from being a prisoner of war."

The clone sighed. "I suppose I do."

"When approaching two girls, the wingman engages the ugly one, letting his friend converse with the target. It's really easy."

"What if the ugly friend doesn't take interest in me?"

Jatne stared at the clone, envious of his massive, athletic frame and charmingly grizzled face. "Trust me. These aren't Coruscantii girls. They're going to _love_ you. Tell 'em about your ear, and you'll be a star."

Jatne got out of the speeder, followed by his clone companion. They squeezed through the door and settled down to a table that was hardly wide enough to fit one drink for each of them. Jatne put in their orders and gave the bar a once over.

"Two girls over in that booth. See them?"

"They're Imperials."

"What? No they're not." Jatne squinted. They were both wearing white coats, and he hadn't seen them at first, but there were small Imperial insignias on them. "Damn."

"They look young. I bet they don't know what a clone looks like."

"Right. And especially not after a few drinks." Jatne called the waiter over again and sent two drinks over for the girls.

"I knew we should have worn armor," the clone lamented.

Jatne waved his hand dismissively and kept an eye on the table. Luckily for his wingman, the blonde girl that Jatne wasn't eyeing was rather pretty. Jatne preferred the brunette, who had slightly crooked teeth and a hearty laugh.

"I get the blonde, then?"

"Yep."

The girls looked over at Jatne and Jatne as the waiter delivered their free drinks. The blonde started laughing and the brunette's forehead wrinkled. They both shook their heads and stood up from their booth, then they left the bar. The waiter returned with an unsympathetic shrug and set the drinks down.

"Is that supposed to happen?" the clone asked with a smirk.

"Not at all," Jatne grumbled. He took a drink and downed it.

The clone leaned back in his chair and managed to look everywhere but at the Mandalorian across from him. Finally, he said, "I never got to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For saving me when I was captured."

"You don't have to thank me for something like that. It was a job." _Insensitive prick_. "Besides, you're practically my brother."

"But you risked your life infiltrating that base. There was a dark Jedi and everything," said the clone.

"I'm just sorry we didn't kill that bastard when we had the chance. I heard--what he did. I'm sorry." Jatne hadn't struggled so hard to have a conversation since the first time he met the Twi'lek Senator.

The clone took a long gulp of his drink and didn't speak right away. The dark Jedi had tortured him and later killed his squad leader. But none of that was this Mandalorian's fault. "Thanks all the same."

"You'd be surprised how much easier a mission gets when a Jedi and an ARC Trooper come along," Jatne remarked.

"I don't think I'd be _that_ surprised."

"Right. You wouldn't," Jatne said with a slouch. "You were in the war and all."

The clone grinned and so did the Mandalorian. They tipped their drinks to each other and sat in a comfortable silence until the bartender kicked them out well passed the bar's closing time.

_The Meshkad Abode, 40 Klicks Outside of Keldabe, Mandalore_

Amyr wasn't bothered when the two sons named Jatne returned home in the wee hours of the morning with a bit of a ruckus. She got up and settled the clone in the basement with a surplus of blankets, a glass of water, and a small light on the staircase in case he needed to get up. She came up from the basement to find Jatne standing near the door where his gear had been laid out, sorting it to be put away.

She came up behind him and gently put an arm around his shoulders. He flinched and she withdrew. "Sorry. No, it's okay. Sorry." He smiled half-heartedly and she patted him on the back.

"Thank you for taking him out. You don't have to look after him anymore. I will."

Jatne shook his head. "It wasn't a problem."

"That was very kind of you to do. He's been through a lot."

"I know."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm all right."

"_Are_ you?"

Jatne grappled with the twist in his gut that came about when he thought about the clone and his parentless childhood. He shook his head.

"What is it?" she asked gently.

"I missed you. That's all. I know you and Dad had a job to do, but that doesn't make me feel better."

Amyr took her son into her arms, and he smushed his face into her neck. "Sorry," he said miserably. She shushed him. "I'm okay now," he added.

They stayed there for a few minutes, standing in the silver light pouring in from the open window until Jatne pulled away and rubbed his eye with his palm.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Verda never hugged me. I just needed one."

"Good," Amyr said, patting him on the cheek. "One last thing: Senator Venadi. You're going to have to explain yourself tomorrow."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. This is my last chance to patronize you before you move out." Amyr grinned and turned to go back to bed. "Good night, _Jat'ika_."

In the middle of the night, a shadow crept up from the basement and moved through the house. It exited through the back door and found the shed. The door was unlocked, and the shadow found a small shovel. It found a spot in the red dirt and began to dig.

The next morning, Jatne rolled over on the circular day bed under his sister's bunk. The room was empty and it was early morning. He dragged himself out of the room he was sharing with Tracyn and found his mom standing with a mug of tea at the kitchen window. He saw his father headed toward the back door with a bowl of hot wheat meal.

"What's up?" Jatne asked.

"It's--Jatne," Amyr murmured. "He's outside and won't come back in."

Jatne went to the window and watched as his father approached the clone, who was digging a hole in the ground. Rem tried talking to him, but only received a stare and a nod from the clone. With a helpless shrug, Rem left the bowl next to the hole and came back inside.

"He's messed up. I don't know. You tried talking to him?" Rem asked Amyr.

"I stayed with him since the sun rose. He kept saying there was something he wanted to bury. It's unsettling."

"Maybe he needs a doctor," Jatne speculated.

The three had a collective sigh. Tracyn walked into the kitchen with such a purpose that she appeared to be on a mission, and she immediately went to the backyard to talk to Jatne. He looked at her but couldn't seem to find anything to say, so he continued digging, but then he paused. He mumbled something, then Tracyn plopped down on the ground and watched him as he stabbed the tip of the shovel back into the soil.

"I'll go into the city and see if anyone can help him," Jatne said.

"You don't have to," said Amyr.

"Too late, I'm going to put pants on," Jatne called over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.

_Jahaal Hospital, Keldabe, Mandalore_

There was a steady rain falling, and Jatne was glad he had decided to wear his armor to go into the city. He watched the raindrops skim off the front of his helmet and fall past his visor as he loitered beside a gathering crowd of Mandalorians. A doctor was shouting and trying to organize a line outside of the entrance. Jatne had never seen the hospital so busy, and he was beginning to think there was some sort of an emergency. He found a Mandalorian woman lingering aside from the crowd and he went over to her.

"What's going on? Was there an attack?" Jatne asked.

"There's some sort of sickness going around," a woman replied. "It's spreading from livestock."

Jatne sighed. "I just need some medicine."

"Go to the Imperial clinic. Five blocks that way," the woman suggested, pointing.

"Imperial clinic?"

"Yes. Hardly anyone goes there. I doubt there will be a line."

Jatne took one last look at the line forming outside of the hospital and turned on his heels to find the Imperial clinic. The rain began pouring harder, and his boots splashed up water from the uneven pavement with every step. He tried to recall the last time he bathed (not that it mattered when he was suited up), and he was almost proud to admit it hadn't been for two days. The last shower he had was in Senator Venadi's apartment before he left. He simply hadn't had _time_.

As expected, there were no Mandalorians seeking the assistance of Imperial doctors. Jatne found a pick-up window for the pharmacy and peered inside of it. A young woman popped up from behind the counter with a start, causing him to jump.

"I'm sorry! May I help you?"

Jatne took a moment to register that this was the brunette from the bar last night. He cleared his throat. "Uhh, yeah. I have a problem. Well, my--brother has a problem."

"All right," she said, blinking twice.

"I think he has post-traumatic stress disorder."

A concerned look crept across her forehead. "I see. He needs psychological counseling. Is he with you?"

"No. I can't get him to leave the house." Jatne nervously hooked his thumbs on his belt. Would an Imperial recruit recognize a clone? "Do you have a sedative or something that I could give him? That might help."

"Yes. I can't give you a full bottle unless you have a prescription, but I can give you a sample to help him until he can see a doctor. We have psychiatrists who would be happy to come and see him."

"I'll call if we need one," Jatne said. "I'll take the sedative for now."

"One moment," the pharmacist said with a smile. Jatne watched her as she walked back into the clinic and began typing on a console. "Could I get your name?"

"Jatne Meshkad."

She paused and blushed. "Could you spell that for me?"

Jatne spelled it and gave her his address and com number as she asked for them. Part of him wanted to mention that they had met the previous night, but that hadn't gone so well. It was better to remain a faceless Mandalorian for now.

The pharmacist returned with a small paper bag and hesitated before handing it to him. "Would you like a vaccination? It's free."

"Vaccination?"

"There's a virus spreading from livestock, and while it's not deadly, we're trying to control it. The symptoms are severe enough to debilitate a person for five days."

Jatne almost wanted to jump at the notion of doing nothing for five days, but he would rather enjoy the rest than be in pain. "Sure."

"Come around to the door."

Jatne followed where she was pointing and waited for her to open the door. The pharmacy was separated into a small waiting room and the pharmacy area by a long counter, and there was a door leading to the rest of the clinic to Jatne's right. She motioned for him to follow her through the door, and she led him up a corridor and invited him to sit in a room. She flipped on the lights and walked out. Jatne tapped his finger on his knee while he waited, and in a few minutes, she returned.

"Could you remove your helmet, Mr Meshkad?"

Jatne did as he was told.

The pharmacist tilted her head at him. "I'm sorry. You look familiar. Have we met?"

"We were at the same bar last night."

The pharmacist covered her mouth to conceal a smile. "That's right." She hesitated, then moved closer to him, and Jatne went rigid. "Sorry," she said again, showing him a small device in her hand. "Just put this in your mouth. Like that, yes."

Jatne put the inhaler in his mouth and she pressed a button and told him to breathe in.

"All done," she announced, disposing of the device. "You may experience a low fever and a runny nose. Let us know if you get really sick. Oh! And my name is Nola Tanostell."

"Thanks, Dr Tanostell."

"I'm not a doctor yet, just an intern," she said with a laugh. "Nola is fine, Mr Meshkad."

"You can call me Jatne."

Nola turned red and nodded, and Jatne regretted the statement. "Call me if your brother doesn't get better."

"All right. Thanks." Jatne grinned at her as he stood, and he didn't put his helmet back on until she led him back to the street.

"Have a good day!" she called after him as he left.

Jatne spent the trip home having a philosophical conundrum over whether his social ineptitude stemmed from Verda's brazen teachings or his inability to balance male desires with pre-conceived social limitations.


	3. Holes

**HOLES**

_The Meshkad Abode, Mandalore_

Helmet clipped to his belt and hands at his sides, Jatne stood a few paces away from the growing hole in the backyard while his father and sister peered into it.

"_Ad'ika_," Rem said to the clone, tirelessly digging the hole. His voice was gentle but his face was hard. "You need to come out."

The dirt was still flung out of the hole at precise intervals. Rem looked from Tracyn to Jatne, then back at the hole. It had been over thirty minutes since Jatne returned with the medicine, and the clone not only continued to dig, but ignored them with some effort. The clouds were becoming darker; the rain had followed Jatne home from Keldabe.

Tracyn blew air out of her mouth and strode over to her brother. She grabbed the medicine out of his hand, took it out of the bag, and examined it. Her bright green eyes trailed up from the sharp wrapped in sterile plastic to her brother. She wasn't asking for permission, but instead giving him a chance to stop her. He merely nodded. Tracyn went back to the hole, sat, and slid into it, small enough to cram herself between the dirt wall and the clone. Rem tensed as if ready to break up a fight, and Jatne closed in on the hole to help.

The sound of ripping plastic was followed by a low grunt of pain and the start of a miserable morning rain shower. The clone didn't resist. Maybe it was the help he wanted.

Shortly after noon, the clone was still asleep on the couch under the watchful eyes of his caretakers. Rem buried their only shovel in the hole the clone had made, and he returned to the house covered in mud passed his elbows and soaked through his clothes. He changed and returned to the kitchen where Amyr handed him an apologetic bowl of hot stew and a grateful kiss on the cheek. Rem grinned at her and sat down at the kitchen table to eat.

In Tracyn's room, Jatne sat on his bed, which was under his sister's lofted sleeper. The borrowed bed was completely round and his height surpassed its circumference, but it was the only logical to sleep with an extra guest to house. He watched his sister as she organized her things, putting things she didn't want in a crate.

"Are you worried about him?" Tracyn asked suddenly. She had filled up the crate with old toys that had once been Jatne's.

"A little," Jatne replied. "He's not the first soldier to ever crack."

"Is he going to recover?"

"I don't know. It's up to him." Jatne yawned and shut his eyes. He didn't drink too much last night, but he hadn't slept very long and his mind was dragging. "_Cyn'ika_, you did good out there."

Jatne's little sister whisked a piece of her reddish hair out of her face, revealing a smile. A corner of one of her front teeth crossed over the other front tooth, and she still had freckles on her cheeks. Jatne's head tilted at her. He had only known his sister for four years. Sometimes, he forgot that. Tracyn had a warmth about her like no one he had ever met. She had grown to love the clones like their mother, so the presence of another boy around the age of the clones did not daunt her. It was as if they had grown up together all along.

Tracyn moved over to the pack she brought home from the Senator mission and began to unload it. She took out a cylindrical silver rod and moved to put it in her closet. Jatne tiled his head. "Wait. What is that?"

"A lightsaber," she said.

"A _what_?" Jatne went over and tried to grab it from her.

Tracyn resisted and swatted at him with her other hand. "A lightsaber! A Jedi gave it to me!"

"Jedi don't give out lightsabers like candy!"

"This Jedi didn't want it anymore!"

Jatne stared at her. "Was the Jedi _dead_?"

"No!" She thrust her elbow into Jatne's side and got him to stop grabbing for it. "She was escaping and she wanted to get rid of it so no one could find her."

Jatne rubbed the spot on his ribs where Tracyn hit him. "And you had it with you while we were on Coruscant?"

"Just in case."

"What were you going to do when some Stormtrooper asked you where you got it? Going to tell him you killed a Jedi?"

"Yep." Tracyn flashed a smile and put the lightsaber hilt in a drawer at her desk.

"Don't carry that around any more. Do Mom and Dad know you have it?"

"Uh-huh." She balled her hands into fists, then sighed. "Fine. I'll leave it here from now on."

Jatne nodded at Tracyn, and she went into her closet and started going through more of her possessions. Jatne looked out the doorway and into the adjacent living room. He could see the clone's feet propped up on the armrest of the couch, and the clone was still asleep. They only had a few more hours before he woke up to decide on the best option for him.

"Dad says we have to recondition him," Tracyn said. "What do you think that means?"

"Sounds like running laps around the pasture to me."

"How's that going to fix what's wrong with him?"

"He'll get shin splints. Shit, I don't know." Jatne laid back on the bed and put his hands behind his head. Tracyn plopped herself down on the edge of the bed, purposefully making it bounce Jatne around.

There was a knock on the front door. Jatne could see out of Tracyn's room, across the main room, and to the door. He watched his mother answer it and let Verda and her Mirialan not-boyfriend in. They were dripping wet with red mud on their boots, which Rem eyed disapprovingly.

They spoke in hushed voices, then the Mirialan poked his head into Tracyn's room. "May I come in?"

"Hi, Demus! Sure, come on in!" said Tracyn, standing up. She offered Demus a seat on her trunk. "I'm Tracyn, and this is my brother Jatne. I don't think we really met yesterday."

"Good to meet you," Demus said to Tracyn. Jatne refused to sit up.

Tracyn leaned toward Demus and whispered, "He's all grumpy because he was at the bar last night and he woke up early this morning."

"Oh." Demus frowned in Jatne's direction. "Do you feel unwell?"

"I feel fine," Jatne said, voice aimed at Tracyn's bunk.

"You seem ill."

"I'm totally fine."

There was a bit of commotion from the kitchen. Tracyn was the first out the door to investigate, followed by Demus, then Jatne. They crowded around the archway into the kitchen and tried to listen without being seen.

"What are you doing with that boy, Verda?" Amyr said through her teeth. She had stood up from her seat so quickly that it had fallen, causing the clatter that roused them out of Tracyn's room.

Rem watched the proceedings, leaning against the counter and sipping caf.

"_Me_?" Verda scoffed. Her purple helmet was sitting on the table, and she was in full armor. She was an unintimidating woman with a small frame, but she had a fierce aggression about her that always placated Jatne when he was younger. He was surprised by the role reversal here--his gentle mother was on her feet and Verda was sitting. "You have a clone in your house, _vod_."

"That's different. He's my son."

"So is Demus."

"He's been my son for ten years."

"Demus has been my son for 72 hours, and I don't love him any less than you love that clone."

Jatne looked at Demus, who was losing color in his face. Where did Verda find him?

Amyr shook her head and spread out her hands. "You picked up that boy and you _could_ have turned him in for a bounty. Instead, he carries your bags and does your housework." Amyr arched a brow. "And need I remind you that the man who trained your _son_ murdered our father?"

Verda's green eyes were unmoving. "Doesn't mean a thing."

Tracyn grabbed Jatne's wrist and squeezed. Jatne wracked his brain to remember their grandfather. He couldn't. Then, it hit him--slaughtered in the Jedi assault on the Mandalorians on Galidraan.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," said Rem, and Jatne could have sworn he saw his father's gaze flicker toward the audience in the doorframe, "you are _blackmailing_ an ex-Padawan into living with you and he does everything you say with the threat of turning him in?"

Verda snorted. "When you put it _that_ way--"

Demus stepped into the kitchen. He looked about ready to burst into tears. Verda, her back turned to him, looked over her shoulder and turned white when she saw him. "Demus--I didn't mean--"

"I understand," Demus said. He forced a smile. "See, it's this or death. Who am I to complain?"

"Those are shitty odds, kid," Rem said.

Amyr lowered her eyes, then she walked around the table and put her hand on Demus' cheek. He was almost a head taller than her. "You are part of this family now, Demus. Regardless of everything. But you have the responsibility of keeping us out of the harm that will follow your history."

Demus nodded.

"Like I said, you _are_ part of the family. If the Imperials come after you, we _will_ help you. And you will have to live with any of the sacrifices we make."

Demus swallowed. He broke eye contact with Amyr, tried to meet Verda's gaze, breezed over the floor and his shoes, then landed on the leg of the kitchen table. "I won't let that happen."

"See? Wasn't this much more direct than yelling senselessly? _Manda_." Rem tilted his mug of caf and finished it off.

"I was a Healer in the GAR," Demus offered. "I know that Jatne is having problems."

"No I'm not!" Jatne insisted.

Demus blushed. "I meant the clone."

"Do you think you can help him?" Amyr asked.

"Perhaps. If you don't mind, I can examine him while he is asleep."

"No, we'll ask before we start probing into his mind, or whatever it is you do," said Amyr.

"Considering his past circumstances, this is fair," Demus said with a nervous chuckle. Tracyn squeezed Jatne's wrist again and gave him a questioning look, to which he shrugged. He didn't know if Demus was referencing something specific, or simply the clone's forced service in the Grand Army of the Republic.

Verda brushed passed her sister and hugged Demus around the torso. She didn't say anything, and she let go of him before he could return the hug. She moved into the living room and settled into a chair, looking after the clone.

Demus looked nervously between the heads of the Meshkad house. The Mirialan was a few years younger than Jatne, tall and with the build of a twig. He had a lot of nervous habits, Jatne noted, one of which was scraping his nails on the palm of his opposite hand.

Tracyn ended the torture by walking up to him and inviting to show him the shed out back, if he didn't mind getting wet. Jatne looked at his parents and, judging by the distraught look on his mother's face, he decided to go back to bed.

Jatne woke up to an audience. Tracyn was poking him in the face, and his parents, aunt, and new cousin were standing around the bed. Jatne flinched and sat him, then hit his head on Tracyn's bunk bed. "Damn it!" he swore, rubbing his head. "What the hell is this?"

"Jatne woke up," Tracyn said, trying not to laugh at her brother.

"Okay, what's with the show here? We're talking about the clone, right?"

"He wants to speak with you, _Jat'ika_," said Rem.

Jatne rolled out of bed and ran his hand over his hair, then he grunted and walked out of Tracyn's room. His bare feet padded onto the hard stone floor of the kitchen, and he looked over his shoulder to see the rest of the family gawking from the main room.

The clone was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water. He lowered himself into a seat across from the clone, whose head was lowered. He waited for the clone to speak, but he didn't.

Jatne scratched behind his ear and looked passed the clone at the far wall of the kitchen. The walls were the color of the red dirt outside. _Painted_, extravagant. His parents had the money for a sprawling flat on Coruscant, but they only built a small ranch house on Mandalore that Rem probably built half of himself.

"You gave us a scare," Jatne said.

"I'm sorry," the clone said in a gravelly voice.

Jatne swallowed.

The clone traced his finger along the condensation on the outside of the glass of water. His face was wan and he looked thin, a shadow of the warrior he was less than a year ago.

"I kept dreaming last night," the clone said. "I saw the eyes of the Umbaran who tortured me." He snorted. "All the shit I saw in the war--Gev, maimed and bleeding, Dem blown to pieces, Reg--" The clone broke off. "And all I see are those horrible eyes. They don't have pupils, you know. Burns a hole in your head the way they don't blink."

Jatne wondered if he should reach out and touch the clone's hand. He didn't.

"A Padawan erased my memory of the interrogation," the clone said. Jatne's head tilted--he didn't hear about that. "She saved me a lot of mental anguish. They said I came back different after you rescued me. But something happened, and I'm starting to remember what the Umbaran looks like. The things he somehow told me. He never even _talked_, he just stared at me, and I wept and I couldn't control the anger welling up inside. That sort of rage that eats you up, like stomach acid. I told him everything he wanted just to spite the Republic for what they were doing to me, my brothers. I remember it now. It hurts."

"Then we'll make it stop," Jatne said.

"You can't erase this shit," the clone countered, staring dismally at the glass of water. "Amiel told me the wipe was permanent. But it came back somehow--if my mind can't let go of it even with that kind of treatment, then what will?"

Jatne didn't have an answer.

"I thought if I found a dark place I wouldn't have to see his eyes anymore. If I escaped the sun's heat, I wouldn't have to feel anymore."

"No," Jatne said, straightening in his seat. "I did _not_ pull your ass out of a hostage situation for you to put yourself in a hole. That wasn't the deal. You can't have a death wish. You know why? 'Cause you have a chance your brothers don't have. You get to live a normal life with a dead end job and speeding infractions and credit debt. You never waste a chance like this. You put your life on the line for your brothers and you're gonna have something to show for it. Okay?"

The clone hesitated. Then he nodded.

"So, _Jaro_, what do you say? You gonna dunk your head in the pond until your lungs fill with muck, or are you gonna come back to the bar with me tonight?"

"Sure, I'll go back to the bar."

"I'll be your wing man this time. How about that? I bet you've never had a girlfriend before, have you?"

"Not really."

"'Not really,'" Jatne repeated with a snort. "We've all been there."

The clone cracked a smile.

A timer went off on one of the cookers and Rem strode in, eyes glued to his son and the clone at the table. "Whoops! Didn't know you were in here," he remarked. Jatne rolled his eyes at his father as he flipped off the timer. He didn't even get something out of the cooker.

"How're you feeling, _ad'ika_?" Rem asked.

"Better." The clone looked at Jatne. He was still tired and spoke with a bit of a drawl as the sedatives wore off, but he sat up straighter.

The rest of the afternoon was spent indoors. Demus sat with the clone for half an hour trying to discern what could have triggered his memory relapse. The clone tried to recall all of the things he had done in the past week while Demus weighed in suspicious activities.

"I don't understand," said Demus, shrugging. He let out a frustrated sigh. "Are you _sure_ Amiel performed a mind wipe on you?"

The clone bristled. "How should I know? That's what I was _told_."

They fell into silence. Then Demus asked, "Did you say you were at a bar last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you drink alcohol?"

"Yes."

"That could have been it."

Jatne entered the living room coughing and sat across from them. They both looked at him with hard frowns. "What?"

"Demus says alcohol could have triggered my memories."

Jatne wilted. "How was I supposed to know?" He let out a wheezy sigh and rolled his eyes. That was when he noticed that Demus was glaring not at him, but the clone. It was one hell of an assumption, but Jatne thought that was a little _uncharacteristic_ of the Padawan. Demus seemed less... polite than usual.

Demus looked over at the Mandalorian again. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, just something in my throat. I don't know." Jatne got up and motioned for the clone to stand. "You feelin' up for another trip to Keldabe?"

The clone looked relieved as he stood. He looked at Demus and nodded in "thank you," then wordlessly followed Jatne out of the house.

"Thanks," the clone said under his breath. He got into the passenger seat of the speeder.

"Was that guy giving you crap?" Jatne asked as he started up the speeder.

The clone was silent, but he held up a finger to indicate he meant to answer once they were further away from the house. Jatne drove a little faster than was necessary.

"I killed Demus's Master," said the clone. "And he knows it."

The side of Jatne's mouth twitched. "Eesh."

"During Order 66, the Jedi Master attacked my squad. I noticed Demus get away with another Padawan. Sprocket killed the Master with a grenade."

About forty seconds passed, then Jatne said, "Is it bad if I'm impressed?"

The streets of Keldabe were blanketed in a thin mist rising from the morning rain shower. Jatne and Jatne stood in front of the door to the _Hayc'jag_, and the clone asked, "Here again?"

"You'll like the steak. And no booze this time."

"But I want to live dangerously."

"I need a designated driver."

They grinned at each other, and the Mandalorian felt relieved that the clone seemed to be in higher spirits. Still, he didn't fool himself into thinking this would be the end of the clone's troubles.

Jatne didn't get five steps into the bar before a massive Mandalorian stood in his way. "Meshkad!" the Mandalorian barked. "You asshole!"

"What?" Jatne sputtered, then he coughed.

The Mandalorian shoved him in the shoulder. "You didn't tell me you were home!"

Grinning, Jatne bumped chests with the Mandalorian, who then invited the two of them to his table where a Mandalorian woman in red armor sat. Once they were settled and helmets were removed, Jatne looked to the clone. "This is Teroch. He's an old friend."

Teroch had a brutish face and a slight under bite, and he kept his blond hair cut close to his scalp. "Jatne and I go back a long time." He spoke with a slow drawl that he picked up from his father, a non-Mando, and he had a faded z-shaped Kiffar tattoo over his left eye.

The clone smiled and held his hand out. "Jaro."

"Jaro," Teroch repeated, and shook Jaro's hand. Jatne looked at the clone with a quirked brow, but was distracted as Teroch motioned toward his lady friend.

"Jatne, you remember Nari, right?"

"Nari?" Jatne laughed. "It's been, what, eight years?"

"Longer." Nari smiled. She was prettier than Jatne remembered her from his childhood, and her hair was longer and fixed into two braids that she rested over her left shoulder. Jatne blinked as he watched Teroch drape his beefy arm over her. Teroch's eyes were bloodshot and he looked sleepy.

"Teroch," said Nari, continuing her pleasant smile, "why don't you save it for later?" He didn't move. "If you want there to _be_ a later."

Jatne and _Jaro_ let out a hesitant chuckle, and any tension was immediately lifted as Teroch called over the service droid on duty and ordered a round of drinks. Jaro almost protested, but Jatne insisted on taking the extra drink.

Food came to the table and empty mugs began to crowd the plates. It wasn't long before Teroch recalled what had kept Jatne away from Mandalore for six months. "You--you were with a _Senator_!"

"Yeah, how was that?" Jaro asked with a sober, knowing smile.

"Ah. Shit." Jatne propped up his elbow and went to put his chin in his hand, missed, and tried again. "Like every fantasy ever spawned from a dirty holozine."

Nari laughed but slapped Jatne on the arm. "I thought this was a legit job. Bodyguard work."

"Bodyguard work," Jatne repeated with a smirk. "I guarded her all right. She was built like this." Jatne traced in the air what a drunk person thought an attractive female outline would be, and everyone interpreted it except for Jaro. "Played hard to get at first. She was a real classy sort, not gonna get herself into something before she knew she wanted it. Which, y'know," Jatne wiggled his eyebrows, "who _wouldn't_?"

"I wouldn't," Jaro pointed out. The intoxicated Mandalorians ignored him.

"The first time was totally spur of the moment. She saw me shirtless and practically tore out of her clothes."

"Oh, _please_!" Nari giggled. "If you were any more full of yourself, Teroch would have a run for his credits."

Teroch was just grinning stupidly and looking as if he was wishing he had been there in the Senator's apartment. Jaro picked at some leftover food.

"She was on top--_Manda_--" Jatne sighed.

"Okay, okay. I think we're done with that," Nari interrupted. She squinted at him. "Listen, Jatne, you don't look too good."

Jatne couldn't keep his eyes open. He shook his head and mumbled something incoherent. Jaro put his hand on Jatne's shoulder. "You look faint."

"You only had two, Jat, what the hell's wrong?" Teroch asked.

Jatne touched his hand to his nose, saw blood, then his forehead fell and hit the table.


	4. Isolation

_**Author's Notes:**Wow! It's been four years since I've updated! I wrote about 300 words of this chapter in 2009 and finished it over the past couple of weeks. I picked up my Mando/Republic Commando stuff on a whim and I just HAVE to finish this fic! I hope you enjoy it! Please drop me a review and let me know what you think, I'd really appreciate it! Thank you!_

**ISOLATION**

_Outside of Keldabe, Mandalore, 11 years before the Battle of Geonosis_

Teroch Galaar was three inches taller than Jatne and arguably twice as wide. He liked throwing his weight around as much as he liked throwing the limmie ball. He had two chins and fat cheeks that made his dark eyes beady, and a vaguely z-shaped black tattoo over his right eye. The other kids told Jatne that Teroch was a Kiffar, or at least in part, and he had the special power of crushing a person's spleen with his mind. Jatne didn't know what a spleen was, but he was eighty percent positive he didn't want it crushed by Teroch.

Teroch was frightening as he stood over Jatne, who was trying to stand in a slippery mud puddle. Teroch grabbed Jatne by the back of the shirt and hauled him out of the mud.

"Way to get tackled, moron," Teroch growled.

A girl around their age ran over to them, out of breath, covered in mud up to her waist. "Shut up, Teroch! Jatne's a good receiver!"

"He's scrawny," Teroch retorted.

Jatne glared up at the larger boy and clenched his hands into fists.

"Besides," Teroch went on, "you can't throw worth crap, Nari!"

The girl's eyes went wide and Jatne couldn't tell if she was hurt or furious. Jatne had caught her pass from halfway down the field. _He_ couldn't even throw that far.

"_You_ get off the field so we can keep playing," Teroch said, pointing his fat finger in Jatne's face.

Jatne stared cross-eyed at his finger. In his peripheral vision, he detected the other limmie ball players gathering around the little mud puddle where he was standing ankle-deep and facing off with the biggest kid any of them had ever seen. Jatne looked at Nari and a dark-haired boy who was whispering in her ear and patting her on the shoulder. Jatne looked back at Teroch, and his small shoulders began to shake.

"You're a fat thug!" Jatne shouted, and he pushed Teroch as hard as he could. "I want to pay limmie, so I'm going to, even if you crush my spleen!" he added with another shove. This time Teroch slipped and fall on his rear end.

The dark-haired boy standing with Nari seemed ready to leap at Jatne to hold him back. The other players were tense too as Teroch slowly pushed himself up.

"Fine, twerp," Teroch said in a low voice. He held out a muddy hand to Jatne. "You're on my team from now on."

Jatne, stunned, grabbed on to Teroch's hand. Mud squished between their palms.

Verda called him home and only had words of praise when she heard what her nephew had done to the Galaar shopkeeper's son. "Aren't you just a ball of righteous anger, little man," she told him. Jatne's ears turned pink. _Righteous anger_. One of the few compliments he ever received from his Aunt Verda.

_Imperial Hospital, Keldabe, Mandalore, Present_

_Goddamn, it's way too bright in here_.

Jatne blinked. He kept blinking. His head hurt and the white lights weren't helping, but he had to figure out where he was. Sure as hell wasn't the _Hayc'jag._ Jatne squinted and touched his hand to his chest, and he felt the papery material of a gown.

"Shit," he muttered aloud. A hospital? Who took him there?

Jatne flinched and he heard someone beside him. He willed his aching head to turn to see who it was. A droid. "You're awake," the droid said.

"Yeah. Could you tell me where-" Jatne broke off as the droid rolled out of the room. "Okay, just leave. That's fine."

Jatne let his head sink backwards. He was sitting up in a bed and his eyes were adjusting. He was in a room by himself, and his noticed a loud hum coming from the ceiling. He tried to suck in a breath, but instead he met resistance in his lungs, and that triggered a fit of coughing that was hindered by fatigued muscles. By the time he controlled himself, he saw three figures in what looked like environment suits standing around his bed. He froze.

"Good morning, Mr Meshkad. I am Doctor Ukar, the attending physician here at Keldabe's Imperial hospital, and these are my residents, Pilos and Tama. How are you feeling?"

"Confused."

One of the masks turned to look at the other masks, then all of them seemed to hone in on him. Jatne tried to sink all the way into the bed so he could hide.

"You were in the intensive care unit for a little over a day, Jatne," one of the other suits—the resident—said. "You're very sick."

Jatne squinted and wished he could see through their crazy envirosuits. So _this_ is what it was like dealing with a bunch of helmeted Mandalorians.

Dr. Ukar, the tallest of the suits, seemed to nod. "You are coming down with the viral infection that's going around Keldabe."

"_What_? I just got the vaccine."

"It can take up to a week to get full immunity, so you must have contracted the virus before you received the vaccine. Have you been around any livestock lately?"

"Uh, no," Jatne said. "No livestock."

The suits jotted down notes vigorously on their datapads.

"Your immune system is getting a hold of the infection," a resident informed him "but your body seems a lot weaker than the other cases we have seen here. What's strange is that we can't seem to get a hold of your immunization records."

Jatne folded in his lips and looked from the resident to the other two suits. He thought back to his childhood and remembered standing at the kitchen door while Verda mixed herself a drink, having just asked her what "shots" were.

_"Pointless wastes of credits. If you get sick, we see a doctor. End of story."_

And since then, Jatne had only seen a doctor for injuries sustained while training or working. He smiled nervously at the suits and said, "I don't think I've ever had one."

The suits stiffened. "Not a problem, then," said the nearest resident to him. Swallowing, Jatne could hear the "problem" in her voice. "We'll be back in a few minutes. Rest up until then."

Jatne cringed as doors opened and closed and air was suctioned and the room was sealed. His ears popped. And then he whimpered.

_Imperial Clinic Waiting Room, Keldabe, Mandalore_

Tracyn was sitting on the floor in front of a low table doodling on sheets of flimsi. Jaro sat behind her and watched over his shoulder with Amyr and Rem on either side of him. Verda, suited up in her armor, was pacing a small length of floor in front of a door leading to the patient rooms.

Jaro flinched every time an Imperial walked through the waiting room. Even the receptionist was an Imperial. Imperials were _everywhere_. He was glad to be behind a helmet, but he had this irrational fear that they could _smell_ him. Jaro just wasn't used to being the enemy of living creatures.

"Jatne's not going to be mad at you, Aunt Verda," Tracyn remarked to break the silence.

"Of course he is!" Verda snapped. She stopped pacing and her posture slumped. She made an effort to calm her voice. "It's my fault."

"Jatne would put his head in a krayt dragon's mouth if he thought it would impress a girl," Tracyn said. "He's stupid for taking that vaccination."

"Tracyn," Amyr said warningly. "Jatne will be fine, _Verd'ika_. Why don't you sit down?"

Verda moved to a chair and plopped herself in it. Her hands moved to a side pouch and pulled out a flask. She untwisted the top and swirled it, but there was no sound inside. Jaro could see a sigh in her shoulders and she put it away.

Rem let out a long yawn and ran his hand over the stubble growing on his face. Jaro looked between Rem and Amyr because they were Jatne's parents. They would know how to act and feel. Jaro did not. He felt frozen inside. Apprehensive. A hospital—he had been in one once during the war, but a war hospital was nothing like this one. Calm and orderly. And an Imperial hospital at that. Hardly anyone wanted to utilize it, although from what they had gathered in the waiting room, all the local clinics were filling up with the sick, and some had to resort to the resources here as the Meshkads had. Jaro recalled the panic of the night before being turned away from the small clinic across the street from the _Hayc'jag_ and he had not come down from it.

Amyr looked up as two humans in white coats approached them.

"May I speak with Jatne Meshkad's parents?" the male human asked.

The two white coats left with Amyr and Rem down a hallway and Jaro sat up in the chair, leaning forward and staring at the floor. No clear read on the doctor's face.

"_Shab_," Verda swore.

Tracyn picked up a piece of flimsi and handed it to Jaro. "I drew you."

The flimsi showed a sketch of an all-too-familiar face with deep creases in the brow and darkened eyes, unsmiling.

"Tracyn—this is-"

Her green eyes stared expectantly at him. Her body shifted so she was facing him.

"Really good. _Kandosii_."

She snatched it back from him. "It's not done yet."

Amyr and Rem returned after a few minutes, and Verda stood at rapt attention. Amyr looked at her younger sister before addressing all three of them. "Jatne's going to be just fine."

Verda peeled off her helmet and started walking past them, but Rem reached out and stopped her. "He's in isolation."

Pushing out from his grip, Verda tossed her helmet into an empty chair and folded her arms. "Well? When can we see him?"

"The doctors say tomorrow. They think they can subdue the virus by then. It's got him pretty bad right now and they're going to keep him over night. So since we can't see him I guess…" Rem trailed off, hesitant.

"I'm hungry," Tracyn said.

Jaro looked down the hall that must have lead to patient rooms, wondering what it must have looked like. Jatne in a room by himself. Jaro remembered the ramshackle hospitals with crowded beds and rushing medics and droids. White chest plates marked with _X's_. That was no place to die. But here, Jaro thought, even the Imperials would take care of him.

"They'll call if something goes wrong, won't they?" Jaro asked.

"Of course, _ad'ika_." Amyr's smile was one of assurance as it always was. "If not, then we will come and get Jatne."

_That_, Jaro was sure of. Family and army were one and the same here.

It was decided that Rem and Amyr would head back to the house. Verda made some vague reference to errands that she had to run, leaving Tracyn and Jaro to wander Keldabe until Verda was ready to leave.

"I want a knife," Tracyn was saying as they walked toward an open market.

"A knife?" Jaro asked. "What will you do with the knife?"

"This and that." Tracyn stopped at a booth and stared at the wares, which were not knives but handmade pieces of jewelry. Beads woven with dark twine in many colors. "Dad says you need to be reconditioned."

Jaro stiffened, kept his eyes on the beads. "You know what that means, Tracyn?"

"No. I guess I don't. What does it mean?"

"Training." Jaro had heard the word _reconditioned _before but he didn't believe the rumors. Clones on the brink of insanity getting pulled from the ranks and retrained. Not just drills, but tests of mind-bending proportions. A kind of brain restart. No one spoke of it. Jaro supposed that was why it was effective. "Lots of training."

Tracyn looked at him. She had her mother's kind eyes, not the fierce yellow-green of her aunt's. "That doesn't seem fair."

Jaro tilted his head at her.

"I need more training than you do. And besides, what's a bunch of training going to do? You need to relax."

When Jaro swallowed there was a lump in his throat. The swell in his chest came suddenly and he had to turn away from Tracyn. "Sergeant Meshkad knows what he's doing."

"He's Dad now, Jaro." Her hand took his. "Let's get something to eat."

The city of Keldabe was unlike any place Jaro had been to, and he had seen a lot of things, but never as a man in casual clothes. The world was a different place without a helmet heads-up display. The sky was much bigger when he viewed it without any filters, and the red earth of Mandalore was unimposing and soft beneath the old borrowed boots. The people of Keldabe did not look at him twice. He was able to exist just as he was-as Jaro Meshkad, he realized for the first time. And he had nothing to do today except follow the whims of a twelve year old girl.

_Meshkad House, Mandalore_

_Late Afternoon_

Verda drove back to the homestead. She was very quiet. Jaro had not known her for very long, and he found her to be an enigmatic sort of being. Sometimes she had much to say and other times she didn't. Jaro had caught on to her liking of Jatne and could imagine she was preoccupied with worry over him, so perhaps there was not much to talk about on the ride. Tracyn, he knew, could chatter quite a bit, and even she was quiet. Jaro could use the silence to watch the landscape.

Amyr and Rem had been busy preparing dinner and two guests had been in the sitting room while they worked in the kitchen. These guests were strange to be paired together even to Jaro, who hardly knew them: Teroch and Demus. But they were speaking animatedly.

"_Then_ what did you do?" Teroch asked in a loud voice.

"Well my lightsaber had been discarded in the blast," Demus said.

_That_ strill was out of the bag.

"But my clone commander had given me a grenade on a whim before we parted from the transport."

Teroch leaned forward in his seat, hardly noticing that three newcomers had just entered the front door. Demus noticed and stopped his story, however. "_Ver'buir_," he greeted Verda with a smile. "Welcome back," he added to the others.

The big Mandalorian was not in his armor as Jaro had seen him last time, but he was still just as intimidating. He got up from his seat and tipped his head at Verda, but his bright eyes were focused on Tracyn, who bounded over to him. She then punched him right in the stomach.

"Pow!" she said. "How's my left jab?"

Teroch doubled over with a groan of genuine pain.

"Well?" Tracyn demanded. "I thought your abdominal wall was too tough for me!"

Verda snorted and nudged Jaro with her elbow, glancing up at him with a smirk. It was one of the first times Jaro could recall Amyr's little sister really acknowledging him and he was so surprised he almost forgot to smirk back at her.

Rem poked his head out from the kitchen and arched a brow. "Dinner's still going to be about an hour. Tracyn, you want to take the guests outside for some shooting?"

"Yes!" she squeaked.

Tracyn told all of them to wait outside while she got a few rifles, remarking that Teroch and Demus weren't allowed to see where the Meshkads kept the arsenal locked up. Jaro smirked and Teroch shrugged his shoulders.

"So how'd you take out the droids?" Teroch asked Demus, still stuck on the story from before.

"Avalanche from a Force-guided throw with the grenade. It wasn't anything, really."

"Ah." Teroch's green eyes landed on the next most interesting thing, Jaro. "How's Jatne?"

"Stable." Jaro didn't want to undergo any interrogations from Teroch. He didn't know what Jatne's friend had been told—although if he had been entrusted with the information about Demus, then Jaro supposed his own association with the GAR could be taken relatively lightly.

Teroch snorted. "Well? Is he gonna live, or when are the funeral arrangements?"

"He's getting discharged tomorrow." Jaro didn't smile and neither did Demus. Teroch rolled his eyes and strolled a few paces away, taking his com out of his pocket.

That left Demus and Jaro staring at each other. Jaro caught the subtle hardening of the muscles on either side of the Mirialan's face. Demus averted his gaze but Jaro knew better than to think the Jedi wasn't sensing the turmoil in Jaro.

"Listen," Jaro said. Demus's eyes flashed in his direction but didn't stay there. "If this cold shoulder is about what happened on Coruscant, then I don't know what to say to you."

"Then don't say _any_thing." Demus sighed. "I've spent the better part of my life getting ordered around, taken advantage of. My Master was the only one who took me seriously. He respected me. You can't blame me for being a _little_ pissed about it."

"He was protecting you," Jaro heard himself saying. "We were defending ourselves."

Now they had attracted Teroch's attention again. He watched as if it was a game of limmie, back and forth.

"He wasn't going to kill you," Demus said through his teeth. "He was just buying us time."

Jaro shook his head. He stepped forward, mind flooded with protest. How could this kid know what it was like? That day on Coruscant, Jaro had been stationed with his commando squad in front of the Jedi Temple with orders to shoot to kill. And they had to follow orders. _Had to_.

Demus flinched and his hands raised, and before Jaro could react, a burst of energy threw him backwards. The wind was knocked out of him and he landed, skidding, on his back against the dirt.

"_Wayii_," Teroch said under his breath.

"_Demus_!" Tracyn shrieked from across the yard.

Jaro pushed himself to his feet with a practiced speed, catching the Jedi as he sprang at him. Jaro knew how gravity would have pulled Demus and adjusted to throw him in a new direction, but the Jedi started pulling the Force so that he bent in mid-air, and suddenly Jaro was the one being hauled to the ground. He kept his grip on Demus's shoulder and leg and twisted and the Mirialan let out a yell, and they were one big tangle on the ground. Jaro kept pulling, trying to cause the Jedi pain, anything to keep him from doing the same in turn.

"_Be'chaaj_!"

Sergeant Amyr Meshkad commanded Jaro to get away and he did, shoving Demus away and rolling on the dirt so that they were separated.

A sound like a low _pop_ reached his ears and he felt it in his gut. A PEP laser—useful for commando work during the war. Amyr must have found it useful and picked one up herself. Then she shot Demus with it. Jaro pushed himself up and stared at her. She was wearing a purple wrap dress and she was standing barefoot with the blaster. Her green eyes wild with anger he'd seen only once directed at a Kaminoan that suggested she terminate her pregnancy with Tracyn. Jaro remembered that day even as a little boy because she came to training still shaken, still angry, and he'd never seen her that mad ever again.

_Until now_.

"Jaro!"

He went rigid at attention. Following commands from her was fluid, simple.

"Teroch! Help him up!"

The Mirialan had curled up into a ball on the ground in pain. A PEP laser could do that to a Nikto, but Jaro hadn't ever seen it used on a Jedi. Apparently any unsuspecting lifeform was susceptible. Jaro and Teroch grabbed Demus under the arms and pulled him to his feet.

Verda was sprinting from the house but Amyr turned the PEP on her. "Don't even think about it!" Amyr shouted at her as a warning. "Get him out of here!"

The blonde stopped in her tracks, boots skidding on red dust, staring down the barrel of the blaster. "Amyr."

"And don't bring him back."

Verda walked up to the Mirialan, passing her sister without looking at her. Teroch and Jaro dropped the Jedi on her.

"Get inside," Amyr said, waving at Jaro. When he looked from her to Tracyn, who was staring at the proceedings with a rifle in her hand, the rest of which she had fetched and discarded when the fight started.

Jaro started walking, his mind a blank slate, his chest filled still with a rolling boil. If his sense of belonging had been rocky before, it had certainly been shaken now.

_Imperial Hospital, Keldabe, Mandalore_

_Late Evening_

Jatne's datapad was two versions too old and it hadn't occurred to him until just then, when his text program wouldn't upgrade its software because the hardware was too out of date, that he could actually afford with his own funds to get a new one.

_Aveena,_

_I know you made it clear you didn't want to leave Coruscant. But I want to see you. I don't care if_

[DELETED]

_Aveena,_

[DELETED]

_Senator Venadi_,

_It was great working with you on a professional level. Please let me know if any other opportunities arise for_

Another suit came through the airlock. Jatne shut off the datapad and set it aside, mentally prepping himself for more prodding.

But the suit was holding a thermos that looked suspiciously like the one his father always put caf in. And then the suit plopped itself on the edge of his bed. "I brought soup, _Jat'ika_, because I know they're not feeding you right."

He took the thermos from his father and snapped open the top. Steam was coming out of it but he still took a sip, not caring that it burned the roof of his mouth. He hadn't realized he was hungry until his father brought up how they hadn't been feeding him right. Just plain food with regular portions at regular intervals with vitamins.

Rem placed his hand on Jatne's knee and rubbed. He was silent. There was a first time for everything.

"I'm not dying," Jatne said.

Rem squeezed. "You had two seizures while you were out. Did they tell you that?"

"Yeah."

"We had to watch them hold you down from behind glass. Then did they tell you your heart stopped?"

Jatne scoffed. "Yeah."

Rem reached over and smacked him in the ear. "_Don't laugh._"

Looking over his father's shoulder, there was a doctor frantically pulling on an envirosuit. They didn't like that their patient had just been smacked. In what little he had seen of Dr. Ukar, the Arkanian that was currently throwing on the suit, Jatne found that he liked him. For a doctor.

"You're causing trouble," Jatne mumbled.

Rem sniffed.

"Dad?"

"Drink your soup."

Rem's grip on Jatne's knee was so tight that Jatne thought the circulation had been compromised. Jatne's breath caught in his throat and he couldn't say a word. His dad, watching his son unconscious with a team of doctors resuscitating him behind glass. His heart had stopped. Verda told him in basic life support training that that meant he died.

_Dad's scared_.

"It's okay," Jatne whispered.

The airlock opened and Dr. Ukar strode in. "Mr. Meshkad, I'm going to have to ask you to—"

"I was just leaving." Rem's voice was stronger than Jatne bargained for, and he stood up. He was as tall as the Arkanian and a lot broader. If he wanted to stay, he could have.

Jatne didn't want him to leave. He gripped the thermos in his hand. "Dad?"

"Promise me you'll get him home tomorrow, Doctor."

"Of course. The soup will help."

Rem looked over his shoulder at Jatne. It was hard to make out his face behind the mask. Jatne could picture that look of reverence under a dark brow, a look that could hold him forever like a statue. Then he was gone.


End file.
